


His Master's Voice

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2010)
Genre: Aural Kink, Bondage, Chains, Collars, Dildos, Dominance, Love, M/M, Restraints, Sex Toys, Submission, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would enjoy my holding such power over you, I think?  The power to make you spend helplessly in your trousers with merely a word?  Or naked at my feet, spilling over my shoes before cleaning them with your tongue?  Does that thought not excite you, my dove?  It excites me.  I find it quite - <i>intoxicating</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Master's Voice

**Author's Note:**

> For tiger-moran

He kneels, shivering, the blackness of the blindfold sharpening his other senses, but he hears nothing. This is not the way to do this; surely Moriarty can see that? Down here, in the dank cellar, the room they use for reprimanding wayward employees and interrogating enemies, with its chill and its musty smell of damp, underlain by the sweet, cloying scent of blood. He can feel the goosebumps rising on his naked skin, and his inadvertent shudder only serves to make his restraints rattle and echo.

But the Professor has decreed this a day of training for his pet, and so when he is led down into the bowels of the house and told to strip, and kneel in the centre of the room with his fingers clasped together behind his head, he does so. Sebastian remains still and obedient even when the Professor leaves the room, taking his clothing with him, that action alone somehow sealing what must happen today with a strange finality; he will be his owner’s naked pet whilst he undergoes his training, and his clothing, and any other manly trappings which mark him out as anything but an animal, will not be returned to him until his owner wishes it so.

oOo

On returning to the room, the Professor has a large Gladstone bag with him. From it he takes one of Sebastian’s collars, a three-buckled, stout leather affair which Sebastian thinks of as more a neck _corset_ than a collar. When it is buckled on, it forces his chin up and his head back and makes it difficult for him to breathe, which is why, of course, Moriarty likes to make him wear it. His tiger sounds so very sensual when his roar is muted and he can do little but growl and pant in pain or pleasure.

Sebastian’s wrists are then shackled behind his back and attached by a short length of chain to similar restraints around his ankles. He could not now rise from his position kneeling on the floor even if he wished to but, as a further reminder of his helplessness, a second chain is attached to the metal loop at the back of the collar and padlocked to a stout ring set into the stone floor just behind him. The chains feel alien - cold and heavy – against his buttocks and the crease of his backside.

The final item is a blindfold, formed of soft leather, which the Professor fastens tightly around his head, ensuring that his sight is completely cut off. Then there is silence.

oOo

“Professor?” Sebastian knows that Moriarty knows that this is one of his worst fears; being left alone and helpless, parted from his beloved Master. He knows, too, why Moriarty does it; not only to reiterate and emphasise his power and dominance over him, but because the creeping anxiety and fear which he experiences in such situations heighten his reaction to other stimuli. The Professor has in this way on many occasions caused Sebastian’s emotions to lurch from aroused trepidation to shivering fear to violent arousal and ecstatic climax.

Yet the moments tick by and still there is silence. Then, the barest rustle of fabric, and something brushing lightly at the nape of his neck, just above the edge of the collar, and his heart races.

“I thought that we might continue one particular facet of your training today, pet.” Sebastian struggles to get his pulse rate and his breathing back under control. “I thought that we would continue to see whether, without being able to touch yourself, you are able to climax simply upon my ordering you to do so. You would enjoy my holding such power over you, I think? The power to make you spend helplessly in your trousers with merely a word? Or naked at my feet, spilling over my shoes before cleaning them with your tongue? Does that thought not excite you, my dove? It excites me. I find it quite - _intoxicating_.”

Sebastian stifles a groan. Yes, the mental images the Professor has conjured up have aroused him enormously, and his cock stands up hard and red and swollen between his legs. Yet, as exciting as the notion is, he doubts that he will be able to climax at the sound of his lover's voice alone, for the moment at least, but will require some physical stimulation in addition.

“But how to achieve it? We know that you can climax from being ridden, even if your cock is left untouched.”

 _Oh God, yes,_ thinks Sebastian, _but it’s **your** cock inside me, it’s **you** taking me, it’s **you** pounding into me and **your** seed flooding into me and the smell of **your** sweat on my skin and **your** weight upon me. I can’t do that without **you**._

“Hmmm. I think that you shall still require some form of stimulation, but the goal is to remove your dependence on receiving that stimulation from _me_. I have therefore devised an experiment whereby you shall receive stimulation to assist you in achieving orgasm, but your only contact with me shall be via my voice. If you achieve orgasm, you shall be rewarded. If you do not, well, I shall not punish you, my dove. Your failure to please me I think shall be punishment enough, no?”

Sebastian hears the Professor moving again and then suddenly there is a pressure at his lips. “Open your mouth, Sebastian. You will want to ensure that this is well lubricated.”

The smooth, rounded end of the dildo is pushed gently into his mouth. It feels bigger than the ones the Professor usually uses on him and, judging from the way it is sliding deeper into his throat, it is also rather longer. 

Sebastian licks and suckles, trying to relax as the toy brushes the back of his throat. It is difficult, the tight posture collar preventing him from angling his head as he would wish to, but thankfully the Professor does not appear to wish to choke him.

Once the toy is soaked with his saliva, it is removed, and he is told to twist around and lie on his side. It is problematic, given his restraints and the chain attaching the collar to the floor, but he manages it eventually and lays there, legs drawn up and arms twisted behind him, feeling utterly helpless and exposed.

Moriarty does not so much as dust a glancing brush against his penis or testicles, but simply works oil into his hole, loosening and lubricating him just enough to be able to start to slide the dildo into him. Thankfully it would seem that the Professor has also lubricated the toy but, even so, it is thick and hard and Sebastian is soon grunting and writhing slightly in an attempt to accommodate it. The Professor stops for a moment and massages his stomach, allowing his internal muscles to stop cramping and relax, before continuing to push the dildo in.

Finally, with a gasp from Sebastian and a mortifyingly wet, sucking, sound from his backside, his hole closes around the flanged end and the toy is buried deep inside him. “Up now, my dove, and sit back on your heels – yes, good – like that, it will keep the toy inside you, not that it is likely to slip out, given its girth, and you can use the purchase to _fuck_ yourself on it.”

Sebastian groans. The dildo is so big; he feels stuffed full, but by rocking himself back on to it, he can make it press inside him on that spot which feels so delicious when he clenches his arse around the toy and pushes it up into his tight passage. His cock, which had begun to soften a little whilst Moriarty opened him up with the dildo, is now rock hard again, and dripping pre-ejaculate on to the stone floor.

“Good boy – that’s it, ride that cock, ride it hard. Does it feel good, so large and thick and hard, filling you up and stretching your tight hole, Colonel? Does it excite you to be kneeling naked in a filthy cellar, chained and collared, and pleasuring yourself with an inanimate sex partner, a wooden phallus? Does it make you _feel_ as wanton and sluttish as you _look_?”

Sebastian moans. “Yes, damn you, Sir, yes! But I need – I need _more_ … Please, Sir, touch me, please Sir, I need…”

“I know what you need.” Moriarty is behind him, re-buckling the collar, making it tighter, so tight that Sebastian can hardly breathe. “There. Erotic asphyxia, my dove, which I know you enjoy. Now, come for me, Sebastian. I want you to come for me.”

Sebastian gasps hoarsely for air, pushing himself down on to his heels, clenching desperately around the dildo, up, then down again, harder and harder. So close, _so close_ … 

“Mhore… hleathe… needth….”

“Tighter? Yes of course – there – I do not believe it can be tightened further. No more, slut. You have your wooden sex partner and you have your collar, and that is all a sluttish whore like you deserves. And you will be able to come when I tell you to come, because I am your Master and you are my slut pet, and knowing that you _belong_ to me makes you want to come, makes you want to come screaming my name because I _own_ every fibre of your being. _And. You. Love. It._ ”

Whether it is his recognition of the truth in Moriarty's words or the hypoxia or a combination of both, he does not know. Suddenly, with a startlingly piercing burst of lucidity, the world stills and there is nothing in existence other than his gasping, writhing self, every muscle and sinew and tendon taut with tension, and his lover's voice, flooding over him like the racking shudders his orgasm tears through him, and he is screaming, hoarse and barely audible with the collar so tight, and spilling and spilling and spiralling into rushing, ecstatic, whiteness...

oOo

"Sebastian? Sebastian, my dove?"

He awakens in their bed, his head on fluffed feather pillows and soft linen sheets wrapped around him.

"J-James?" His voice sounds so strange, so cracked and faint.

"Hush, my dove. You have been asleep for some hours. You fainted and... and I have made you comfortable and let you rest."

"The - the experiment?"

"An unbelievably glorious, _resounding_ success, my magnificent tiger. You surpassed my most wildly fevered imaginings. You were - glorious."

"Then I have earned my reward, Sir?"

"Most undoubtedly, my dearest dove."

"Then hold me, James, hold me to you and just - keep holding me."

"I shall. Yes, I shall, my dearest...

... _love_."

And if Sebastian has already passed into a wondrously peaceful slumber, held tight in his lover's arms, he surely did not hear that last syllable.

But there is a smile on his face nevertheless.


End file.
